Catherine's Abduction
by missparker85
Summary: Catherine get's taken, but at least it's a start. GGCW
1. Chapter 1

Catherine didn't usually go to scenes alone. Grissom didn't like to send her on singles because she was a woman and because she was small and Catherine knew that and resented it sufficiently. She respected Grissom as her boss, however, so Catherine didn't usually go to scenes alone. It was unusual, then, when Grissom came into the break room and gave her a homicide in Henderson alone.

"What's up?" she asked, scanning the sheet.

"Sara is in court and Greg is home sick," he said. "Be careful."

"Always am," she said, heading for the door. She paused, "You don't have to worry about me, Gil."

"Okay," he said. "But still be careful."

The freeway was clear and she drove with her windows down. It was easy enough to find the crime scene in the quiet Henderson neighborhood – she just had to follow the flashing red and blue lights. Brass was already there, waiting for her.

"Just you tonight?" he asked as she slipped on her vest. The white thread on the second 'w' was starting to unravel. She zipped it up and hefted her kit out of the back.

"Yeah," she said. "We're thin tonight."

"Well I was just waiting for you. David pronounced and we're heading back to the station as soon as you give the okay." he said. She nodded and made her way into the modest two-story house. She put her camera over her shoulder and climbed the stairs carefully, trying not to disturb anything. David was still crouched over the body.

"Hi Catherine," he greeted.

"Hi," she said, looking down at the body of a young woman, still a teenager perhaps. "Do we have an id?"

"Her school id card on the desk," he said, pointing with a bloodied glove. "Leia Matthews, a senior. She's been dead about six hours. A neighbor called it in – said the parents were away for the week and the neighbor was supposed to check in every night. She didn't answer the phone or the door so they let themselves in, called the cops." He pointed to a pool of blood below her head. "Blunt force trauma."

"Thanks," she said and crouched to start photographing the scene.

"I'll be downstairs." David said and gathered his things. She didn't bother with a response. She opened the flap of her vest for a pair of tweezers and pulled a hair from the girl's cheek. She dropped it into a small envelope and continued to take pictures. When the floor squeaked behind her, she assumed David had forgotten something or an officer had entered. She didn't look up.

"Don't touch her," a man's voice said. Catherine looked up just in time to see the handle of a gun coming toward her. It connected with her temple and Catherine saw stars. The pain blossomed into unconsciousness.

oooo

"How?" Grissom yelled, "The place was swarming with cops, how could anyone get out with her?"

"I don't know, by the time a uniform went up to check on her she was gone," Brass said. "We closed down a mile in every direction, shut down the freeways, the airport, we're doing what we can."

"I hate sending her alone," Grissom said, desolate. They had finally reached the scene and Grissom jumped out of Brass's car before it had come to a complete stop. Ecklie was already there, waiting.

"Gil," he greeted. "We don't need this to be Stokes all over again." Grissom didn't have a response to his dimwitted boss. He couldn't think of Catherine buried alive, he couldn't think of her dead and he couldn't think of her as another publicity nightmare as Ecklie obviously did. Grissom walked past him without acknowledgement.

oooo

Catherine woke up several times, but never for long. She woke up once to lean over and vomit and again to find she was being drug from one place to another. The third time she woke, everything was painful and bright. She tried to move and found she was tied to a chair, her hands behind her, her feet apart, each leg tied to a leg of the cold, metal chair. She looked around in the light of a single bulb. She was in a garage, the place smelled of stale oil and there were shelves lined with cardboard boxes labeled "Christmas" and "photographs". A family home, then. Her head throbbed where she had been hit. Her vest was gone, her kit missing. She was freezing in nothing but her tank-top and slacks. She could see the blood down the front of her shirt and realized it was ruined.

There was duct tape over her mouth. She tried to loosen it with her tongue before she realized it was wrapped completely around her head, tangled in her hair. She didn't know if she should cry out (try to, anyway) or keep quiet. Was he planning to kill her? Had he killed Leia Matthews? She had promised Grissom that she would be careful, he would be so disappointed if she were to die. She wondered if anyone knew she was gone, she wondered how much time had passed. She wondered if she would ever see her daughter again. Catherine started to cry.

But no, she needed to remain calm. Panicking would only make things worse. She started to try to move her wrists to rock the chair, to do something. At least she hadn't woken up in a coffin. She tried to remember what had happen. The man who had hit her hadn't sounded old. He'd sounded scared and his voice had cracked in the middle of his threat.

The door to the house opened and Catherine squinted at the bright light and turned her face away. She whimpered.

"Shut up," the voice snapped. "Just shut up." She looked up at him and he didn't look much older than the victim, Leia Matthews. Catherine nodded at him to show him she was trying to cooperate. God, she didn't want to die tonight. In his hand was a small revolver. "I've always wanted to kill a cop."

She shook her head frantically. She wasn't a cop, he shouldn't kill her. The kid didn't care, though. He aimed the revolver at her head, a feral smile on his lips. Catherine closed her eyes.

oooo

"Do we have an address?" Warrick asked, ripping the sheet of paper out of the tech's hands. They'd found a partial print on the body and the computer had spit out a match. Joseph Clark, in the system for attempted robbery. The kid wasn't even eighteen yet.

"Grissom!" Warrick shouted, rushing out of the lab. "Let's go."

Grissom appeared, jogging after Warrick.

Warrick looked at Grissom; the look of blind panic on his boss's face had been there since Catherine had gone missing.

"Griss, what happens if…"

"Don't," Grissom snapped.

oooo

When the shot didn't come, Catherine opened her eyes. The gun in her face was shaking and there was clear unease on the face of her would-be killer. Leia Matthews hadn't died of a gunshot wound; he'd just bludgeoned her to death. Shooting someone was much harder than an ill-fated blow. Catherine pleaded with him with her eyes. _Please_, she thought, _Please, I have a daughter_.

She heard the sirens in the distance before he did. She was listening hard for them and he probably only heard the blood rushing in his ears, the adrenalin in his veins. He lowered the gun and took a step forward.

"I didn't mean to kill her." he said, sounding small. "I just wanted her to go out with me." He reached out to touch Catherine's face. She flinched and tried to move her head away. He let his sweaty fingers trace the shape of her jaw and float down her neck. _Come on, Gil, _she thought. Suddenly, the boy became aware of the commotion outside. His eyes hardened and he made his hand into a fist. He hit her head wound hard and she went under once more.

When she opened her eyes, everything was slow and blurred. She saw her attacker on his knees, she saw the pulsating glow of the lights from the police cruisers, she saw Grissom come into her view. She realized that she was out of the chair and on a gurney, being rolled. Grissom was walking with her.

"Catherine," he said. She saw his lips move but she couldn't hear his voice. She closed her eyes and opened them again. This time he was sitting beside her in the ambulance, his hand in her limp one. She had a mask over her mouth and all the oxygen was making her dizzy. When she opened her eyes again, Grissom was asleep in a chair and she heard the rhythmic beating of a heart monitor. She rolled her head to look around the room. It's muted colors and antiseptic smell screamed hospital but she couldn't really remember what happened exactly. In a matching chair on the other side of her bed was Lindsey, also sleeping. She pulled the oxygen mask off of her face and her mouth felt foreign and dry.

"Linds," she whispered but her voice was raspy and the effort made the dull ache in her head acute and sharp. She groaned. "Lindsey," she said again, despite the pain. Her daughter sat up sleepily, her hair flat on one side.

"Mom!" she cried, shooting out of the chair. Grissom woke up too, and rushed over.

"Catherine," he breathed. He reached across her where there was a beige remote and he hit the button repeatedly for the nurse. "How do you feel?"

"I don't know," she said. She looked at Lindsey. "I'm fine," she decided, hoping to soothe her daughter's worried expression. A nurse came in and smiled to see her patient awake.

"Ms. Willows," she greeted. "Good to see you awake," She picked up the chart and checked the monitors and wrote a few notes. "I'll have the doctor come in shortly."

"What happened, now?" she asked Grissom, the details were all a little foggy.

"You went to a crime scene and you got hit in the head," Grissom said, glancing at Lindsey. "Lindsey, why don't you run down to the cafeteria and find Warrick." She nodded and left the room, aware that she was being sent away.

"That bad?" Catherine asked.

"You went to a scene, Joseph Clark had been hiding in the attic. He came down through access in the victim's closet, knocked you out, and snuck you out the back. You were only a few blocks away when we found you," he explained, struggling to keep his voice clinical.

"In a garage," she said, remembering.

"Yes," he said.

"He just snuck up on me," she said.

"You should know that he resisted arrest and that Brass shot him." Grissom told her.

"Is he dead?"

"Yes," He assured her. "Catherine, I'm so sorry."

"Things like this happen. You couldn't have done anything, it wasn't your fault." she said. Grissom nodded but he still looked ashamed. Warrick came in with Lindsey and they didn't talk about it anymore. Catherine was released two days later with gauze still over her stitches and a prescription to take care of her persistent migraines. Lindsey wanted to be the one to push her mother's wheelchair to the doors and Grissom had offered to drive them home. Lily had offered but Catherine had sent her fretting and ultimately helpless mother away.

Catherine stood as the nurse took her wheelchair back inside.

"Ahh, free at last," she said, taking a deep breath and sliding her dark sunglasses on.

"Stay here, I'll get the car," Grissom said, rushing into the parking lot.

"You don't have to!" Catherine called after him but it was in vain.

"Just let him, Mom. He feels terrible about it." Lindsey said, sitting on the round, concrete edge of a planter.

"It wasn't his fault," she said again.

"It wouldn't kill you to let Mr. Grissom be nice to you." she shot back. "He trips all over him self around you and you don't even notice."

"What?" Catherine asked, turning to look over the rims of her sunglasses at her daughter.

"He likes you, Mom." she said, exasperated. Catherine opened her mouth to refute her daughter's claim but Grissom's Tahoe appeared in front of them. He jumped out to open Catherine's door for her. Lindsey rolled her eyes as if to say 'I told you so' and clambered into the back seat. Catherine climbed in and buckled her seat belt. Grissom happily drove them home.


	2. Chapter 2

Catherine woke up at night alone. Lindsey had long since gone to bed and after much assurance that she would be fine, Grissom had gone home. She had taken another pill and climbed into bed and gone to sleep, happy to be home in her own pajamas and in her own bed.

She woke very suddenly, though. It was nearly four am and she was in pain. Her head ached, her whole body hurt. With Lindsey in bed, Grissom had spoken to her in more detail about her attack. She'd been transported in the trunk of a Honda Civic – it explained the large bruises all over her body that were just now starting to fade. She'd been carried like a sack of potatoes. No wonder she was sore.

But she was scared, too. The night was not quiet, not soft. She heard the hum of her refrigerator, the dripping of a far faucet, the revving of an engine. She felt the panic start to rise. It wasn't safe, she didn't feel safe. What if someone came for her? What if someone wanted to hurt Lindsey? She reached blindly for the phone next to her bed and dialed with trembling fingers.

"'Ello?" came the tired reply of Grissom's sleep heavy voice.

"It isn't safe here," Catherine blurted, terrified. "I don't feel safe."

There was a slight pause, she could hear him grunt as he threw the covers back and sat up.

"I'll be right there. Sit tight," he promised. She hung up the phone and kicked her covers away. In her nightstand was her gun, unloaded. She pulled out the gun and stumbled to her sock drawer where she kept her ammunition. She loaded the gun and crept into the living room, past Lindsey's closed door and sat in the corner of the floor where she could see the front door. She raised her gun and waited.

Grissom slid his key into the lock, glad she had given him a copy when she'd first moved in. The house was dark and he paused, trying to let his eyes adjust. He moved swiftly toward Catherine's bedroom when he heard a whimper. He turned toward the shallow sound and saw Catherine on the ground, gun in hand, tears pouring down her face. His heart broke.

"Oh, honey," he said, crouching in front of her. "I'm here." She looked up at him and nodded, wiping her face. "Why don't you give me the gun?" He took it from her carefully and removed the cartridge. She tumbled into his arms, muffling her cries into his shoulder. He'd not wanted to leave her but she'd seemed okay, strong and lucid. Now he would make sure she saw the Lab's psychiatrist. For now, he coaxed her up and led her into the bathroom.

"Don't turn on the light," she whispered. "It hurts my head," He nodded and turned on the hot water faucet while she sat on the closed toilet, sadly. He took the hand towel and ran the hot water over it. He wrung the towel out and knelt in front of her. With great gentleness and care, he pressed the warm cloth against her swollen cheeks, intent on soothing her. She closed her eyes and he was careful to avoid her bandages.

When he got her calmed down – her face clean and her tears stopped – she wasn't willing to go back to sleep.

"What would you like?" Grissom asked her.

"Don't leave!" she said, worried he came just to take away her gun and abandon her.

"I wouldn't dream of it." he promised. "Do you want to go back to sleep?"

"I want Austen," she whispered, looking young and small. Grissom nodded.

"Okay, go to bed and I'll get it." She went down the hall to climb quietly into bed and he went to the entertainment center. A little known fact about Catherine Willows was her love of all things Jane Austen. Austen was a comfort zone for Catherine – a throw back from her childhood. It reminded her of being 10-years-old, summer in Montana with dog eared copies of _Emma _and _Pride & Prejudice._ She only wanted Austen when she was distraught.

He put the DVD into the small TV on Catherine's dresser and sat next to her on the bed, on top of the linens.

"Sense and Sensibility," she murmured. "Good choice,"

"Ang Lee," he pointed out – Lee was one of Grissom's favorite directors.

"Alan Rickman," Catherine countered, leaning her head on Grissom's shoulder tiredly. He chuckled for Catherine always felt sorry for the slighted Colonel Brandon and she had a slight crush on Alan Rickman, who portrayed him. It was a longer movie and by the midway point, both viewers had fallen asleep.

"What do you know of my heart?" Elinor wept on.

oooo

In the morning, Grissom let Catherine sleep and took it upon himself to get Lindsey off to school – the start of another week. Then, Grissom called Ecklie.

"I'm taking some time off," he informed his boss. "I'm not sure how long – as long as I'm needed. A week, two, maybe more." he paused, listening. "I'm sure you can handle it, Conrad… Then fire me… Thank you," he hung up.

"You didn't have to do that." Catherine's voice came from behind him. She was still in her pajamas, rumpled and tired.

"Good morning," he greeted.

"Gil,"

"I want to," he said, firmly. She nodded.

"Okay,"

"Are you hungry?"

"No," she said, sitting on the couch, "I'm too nauseous to eat."

"That means its time for another pill, but you can't take it until you eat something so I'll scramble you a few eggs." he said. She shrugged, unwilling to fight him on it. He moved easily into her kitchen, pulling a clean pan out of the cabinet.

"Why are you so good to me, Gil?" she asked, sitting carefully on the stool that sat under the counter. She winced a little, from fatigue and from soreness. He looked at her for a moment before turning away to gather his ingredients. Three eggs and a piece of bread to sit in the toaster. He cracked the eggs into a bowl and fished a small whisk from one of the drawers. "Is that not a legitimate question?" she pushed.

"I didn't say that," he said, whisking the eggs.

"You didn't say anything." she countered. The eggs were now uniform, the pan hot, so he dumped them in and stood with his hand on his hip, looking around for the spatula. "When did you stop talking to people about your feelings?" she pushed.

"When I was nine," he said, carefully. Catherine didn't let herself breathe for a moment and in that airless moment she could see Grissom, the boy, sitting on the couch next to his first corpse. She stood again, walked over to him, and put her arms around his mid-section. She hugged him. Catherine and Grissom rarely touched, Grissom didn't like to be touched unnecessarily. When they did touch it was either accidental or suggestive or, sometimes, for basic comfort, but this hug was to do more than comfort him. Catherine wanted to convey how _important_ he was to her but she couldn't find the words. For Grissom, she could never find the words. He hugged her back tentatively and let his hand rub her back. "Cath, your eggs are going to burn," he murmured and she chuckled and stepped back, wiping the tears that had sprung up away.

"I'm sorry I freaked out," she said. "I'm sorry you had to…"

"You just need some rest," he assured her. "We'll get through this."

"Maybe," she said. "Maybe in a month everything will be just the same."

She ate because he wanted her to and took her pill and fought the drowsiness hard. She wanted to shower but had to wait another day for her stitches to come out.

"You could take a bath, if you're that uncomfortable about it," Grissom suggested after her third frustrated sigh. "Just keep your hair up and don't get your head wet."

"That's a good idea," she said, standing and kicking the blanket from her lap. He picked it up and draped it over the back of the couch while she went down the hall and started the bath. She came back out. "You'll stay, right?"

"Just holler if you need me," he assured her with a smirk. She rolled her eyes and closed the bathroom door behind her. She felt better knowing Grissom was out there and so she took her time. She removed her pajamas slowly, watching herself in the mirror. She twisted around to see her back. All along her spine was splotchy and purple and the bruising continued down her left hip. She was good at covering bruises – she'd done it for years after Eddie had lost his temper, but now she was glad he'd never hurt her this bad. If she'd gone into work at the French Palace she would have been sent home. No one wanted to see anger and pain, and neither did Catherine. She decided to turn the lights off and bathe in the dark.

She shut off the faucet and pushed back the curtain so the plastic didn't touch her steaming water. She always took the hottest baths she could stand. She lowered herself into the water slowly, hissing. She took a plastic hair clip from the edge of the tub and gathered up her hair to keep it out of the water. It was limp and greasy but she just had to wait another day. Maybe she would wear a hat until then, or one of Lindsey's scarves.

She leaned back in the tub and let her eyes close. The water was warm and her muscles slowly released the tension she'd been holding in her body. Her breathing was deep and even.

Nearly an hour had passed since Catherine had gone to take her bath. Grissom was beginning to worry. He finally got off the couch and set his crossword puzzle aside. He couldn't concentrate on the small white squares or the tiny print of the clues, he was too distracted listening for sounds coming from the bathroom and hearing none. Standing in front of the door, he rapped on it lightly a few times.

"Catherine?" he called through the door. "Cath, how are you doing in there?" When he got no answer, he tried the knob and found it unlocked. "Catherine, I'm coming in."

The bathroom was dark and the curtain obscured most of her but he could see her legs. Suddenly he was afraid. She'd taken one of her painkillers, what if she had slipped under, what if she…? He jerked the shower curtain back so roughly that it ripped and several plastic rings were no longer attached to anything. The noise startled her awake and she sat up, splashing and screaming.

"What the hell?" she asked, looking up at him. It took her a moment to realize where she was and when she did, she instinctively drew her knees up to her chest. She was about to snap at him when she saw the look of desperate fear on his face. "Gil?"

"You didn't answer," he whispered. "I'm sorry," He turned away as to not see her nakedness. She stood up and grabbed the towel, wrapping it around her. She had fallen asleep and now the water was tepid and the towel was a warm, dry relief. But she couldn't think about that now, all she could see were the sagging shoulders of Grissom, embarrassed for bursting in on her, embarrassed for being so afraid.

"I'm fine," she assured him. She stepped out of the tub and touched his shoulders. "Turn around," she said and he did, keeping his head low and looking up slowly when he saw the towel around her. "See? I'm fine. I was just tired. I just fell asleep." she assured him again. She stepped closer to him, so their bodies were flush and his arms came around her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" he cleared his throat. "I wrecked your shower curtain."

"Easily replaced – we can stop by Target after we pick up Lindsey from school." she said.

"Okay," he said. She led him out of the bathroom and into her bedroom.

"Let's just lay down for a while before we have to go get Lindsey." she said. He nodded numbly, beginning to come down off his adrenalin high and sat down on her bed. She put on her robe and pulled her towel out from underneath it, making sure the sash was tied tightly. He lay back against the pillows and she climbed onto the bed beside him. "Close your eyes," she said and he did, his lashes touching his cheek softly. She put her head against his arm and closed hers as well.

When she woke up, he was propped up one arm, watching her intently. She opened her eyes and met his with a steady gaze. He smiled a little, and reached out to touch her chin adoringly. He let his fingers travel down her neck, to her shoulder where he moved the robe out of the way so her creamy, freckled skin was exposed. He let his fingers draw lazy circles there, playing connect the dots with her brown freckles and making her skin sensitive. She closed her eyes again, wanting to be able to focus on the sensation of touch and not let sight get in her way.

He surprised her when he leaned down and pressed his mouth against her shoulder. She exhaled slowly, while he inhaled, trying to surround himself in the smell of Catherine. It wasn't her usual scent of upscale perfume and moisturizer, but Catherine, what she smelled like underneath all of her beauty products. He rubbed his face against the shoulder and she felt the soft scratching of his beard and the smooth skin of his cheek where the hair didn't grow. Then, his mouth was back, but this time, it wasn't just lips against skin – this time he was kissing her. The air was filled with a slight smacking sound of him kissing her shoulder again and again, moving ever closer to her neck until there was the feeling of his mouth against her jugular. She sighed.

Grissom didn't quite know what had come over him. He hadn't really slept; he had merely lingered in the space between sleeping and wakefulness. Catherine made small, mewling noises in her sleep that fascinated Grissom. It'd been a long time since he'd really shared sleep with someone else in the bed and no one had ever been quite as feminine as Catherine. She was even girly in her sleep. But the noises pulled him out of any dreamlike state he'd achieved and he'd instead turned all of his attention onto studying her.

And then, suddenly, her eyes opened and it hadn't been enough anymore. He had to reach out; he absolutely without question would not be able to live if he couldn't touch Catherine. So he had. He tugged that offending robe out of the way and touched her. She hadn't said a thing. She didn't move to stop him and so he grew bold. Now, he parted his lips and touched his tongue against the skin of her neck. When she moved her head to give him better access, he lapped at her skin, nibbled her, and reached over to pull her closer to him. It was like being drunk. But even with all this granted to him, even with her unspoken permission to touch her, to kiss her, he was not brave enough to press his lips against hers.

When the alarm started, she put a hand on his back and he pulled away. His face was flushed and his eyes were glazed over and she imagined she looked much the same way. Her robe had gone askew and she was precariously close to revealing more than just a shoulder to Gil Grissom. She pulled the robe closed and watched him smooth his own wrinkled shirt. Neither one wanted to break the silence that had settled over them.

"You'd better get dressed," he said finally. She nodded, and he got up and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him. She was trembling as she put on her clothes. She didn't feel up to wearing anything glamorous. She settled on a black sweater and blue jeans and from Lindsay's room she took a black bandana and tied it around her head, careful to cover her bandage as well as her greasy hair. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

The ride in the car was tense and silent. Catherine wanted to say something to him, he was obviously uncomfortable. She wanted to tell him how much she enjoyed the feeling of him kissing her, of him moving against her. She wanted to tell him that he was desirable and that nothing was more attractive than him wanting her. But she couldn't find the words. Instead she turned her head away and watched the scenery drift along.

The school parking lot was crowded with luxury cars and children in uniforms. Lindsey didn't have the red in her hair that Catherine tried desperately to highlight out. Lindsey was blonde through and through and Catherine found it was hard to look at her daughter in direct sunlight. It was so bright, so beautiful it hurt. Lindsey, at twelve, had been small and shapeless, but at thirteen had entered puberty in stride. Catherine had bought her training bras that were small and white but Lindsey had rolled her eyes and wanted something from Victoria's Secret, not Mervyn's. They had gone to mall and fought over a black, lacy thing and in the end had compromised with pink. Catherine could see the beginning of her daughter's hips swelling against the plaid skirt that was an inch shorter than regulation. Lindsey rolled it up at the waist to be more fashionable and Catherine couldn't blame her.

Lindsey got into the back seat.

"Hi, Mr. Grissom," she said. "Hi, Mom." but she added it as an afterthought. Catherine always had to remind herself how hard thirteen had been.

"How was school, baby?" she asked, twisting to see her in the back seat.

"Boring," she answered, dutifully.

"We're going to Target," Catherine said. "I ripped the shower curtain." She glanced over at Grissom who didn't move but who flushed.

"What happened?" Lindsey asked, concerned.

"I just slipped, I'm fine." she assured her daughter. "We can pick out something new. Maybe get new bath mats too."

"This is going to turn into actual shopping, isn't it?" Grissom asked, speaking for the first time since they entered the car.

"Only if we're lucky," Lindsey said, oblivious to his sarcasm.

oooo

Lindsey's music was loud while Grissom and Catherine cleaned up the mess from dinner. The new shower curtain was a pale green – Grissom called it sage – and had curling stitching all over it, and small, simple flowers. It was sheer and not really her style but Grissom liked it and Lindsey liked it and Catherine had wanted to make everyone happy. Now, Grissom loaded the dishwasher while Catherine wiped down the dining room table humming along to whatever was coming from behind Lindsey's closed door.

"Do you ever think about getting married again?" The question was out before he could stop it. He'd been thinking about asking her all day; he'd been thinking about asking her since Eddie died. She stopped, the wet rag in her hand, and she looked at him.

"I don't make good choices," she said, finally. He tilted his head to one side. There was a moment of silence as one song ended and another began. "Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like had I married someone better suited for me… but I wouldn't give up Lindsey for the world."

"That's fair," he said. Catherine had promised Grissom once, years ago, that he would be invited to her wedding but she had ended up getting married on the strip in one of those 24 hour places – she was already three weeks pregnant but she hadn't known it at the time. Grissom had wanted to see Catherine in a pretty white dress with flowers in her hair but when she had sheepishly admitted that the marriage had passed without him as witness, he'd kissed her hand in congratulations.

"You never married either, Gil." she pointed out, feeling a little defensive.

"I know," he smiled.

"Well?" she asked, impatient. "Why?"

"The time hasn't been right." he said. The implication was clear, though.

Catherine tossed the rag into the sink, past Grissom who closed the dishwasher and looked out into her backyard, regretting bringing up something that upset her. She went into the living room and plopped down on the couch. He came into the living room and watched, trying to decide if he should leave her alone, go home, or if she was approachable.

"You'll call me if you need anything?" Grissom ventured.

"What do you mean?" she asked, turning her head sharply. "I thought you were staying."

"I am," he amended, quickly. "I'll do whatever you want." He was such a pushover where Catherine was concerned.

"Good," she said, uncomfortably. Good. The song ended again and they both waited for another one to start – it took them a minute to realize the CD was over. It was Lindsey's bedtime anyway. Catherine stood and left him in the living room. She knocked on Lindsey's door and went inside the room, shutting the door behind her.

Lindsey was already in bed, reading a book with only her desk lamp on.

"That's not very good reading light," she said, sitting on the bed, taking the book gently from her daughter.

"I don't care," she said. Her blonde hair was long now, and thick, and it spread over her pillow like a piece of fine fabric. Catherine leaned down and kissed her daughter's forehead.

"I love you," she said. Lindsey smiled.

"I love you, too." she replied. "Did Mr. Grissom go home?"

"No, I think he's going to stay for a while. Until I'm well enough to go back to work." Catherine said. Lindsey waggled her eyebrows, knowingly. Catherine didn't really have close girlfriends anymore. She had her daughter, and her job, and Grissom. The woman she was probably closest to was Sara and that was depressing – Catherine barely liked Sara. Lindsey was all she had, and thirteen was old enough to share her secrets. "He kissed me," she whispered. Lindsey shrieked a little, excited.

"Oh my god!" she said. "How was it?"

"Not on the lips…" she explained. "Right here," And she reached up to touch her neck softly.

"Mom, I like him." Lindsey said honestly. "I know he isn't all suave and stuff but I like him anyway."

"Thanks, baby." She leaned down and kissed her daughter. Her young skin was fresh and clean. It smelled like face wash and cold cream. Catherine had taught her early to take care of her skin. Without heavy eyeliner and dark mascara around Lindsey's eyes, she actually looked thirteen. "Goodnight."

"Night," she said and rolled over to face the wall. Catherine shut off the lamp and closed the door behind her. Grissom was still hovering, somewhere between sitting and being gone.

"You have a doctor's appointment tomorrow to get your stitches out," he reminded her. "I'll drive you, if you'd like."

"Sure," she said. "I'm not supposed to drive on the meds."

"Nope," he said, looking down at his hands.

"Maybe we should just talk about what happened, because I'm horrible at small talk." Catherine blurted.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You kissed me," she said.

"Almost," he admitted. She rolled her eyes.

"You kissed my neck," she specified. "It was… really nice." He blushed and smiled. "Gil, do you ever think that we've gone about this all the wrong way?"

"This?" he asked.

"You and I. Our friendship." she clarified.

"Ah," he said. But she didn't want an easy answer. She crossed her arms and cocked her head. Grissom thought her face was cute with her hair pulled back and covered in the black head scarf. It gave her a carefree quality but he could still read her expression and knew he better do better with his next words. "Sometimes I think about you when you aren't in the room. Sometimes I'll be working a scene – dusting for prints or pulling a fiber off a dead kid, something terrible, and all of a sudden, all I can see is you. Sometimes when I'm sitting in my office, I imagine you coming in and…" but he couldn't say that just yet. "Sometimes I think I'll go crazy if I can't touch you."

Now he sat down with a dejected thud on her sofa. He turned his back to her and put his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He was ashamed of his feelings toward her, ashamed of his outburst. Catherine knew how he felt but she played dumb. When Eddie used to hit her, shake her until she couldn't see, she would scoop up her daughter and run to Grissom and he wouldn't ever question her. He would just let her in; let them sleep in his bed while he stayed up all night making sure Eddie didn't show up. It was easy to take things from Grissom and give nothing in return but it wasn't fair or kind and Catherine regretted walking all over him for so many years. She sat next to him and put her hand on his back.

"I never told you that you couldn't touch me." she whispered. He couldn't look at her, he couldn't lift his head. It was too much for Grissom, for Grissom who had taught himself not to feel. "Gil, look at me,"

"Just give me a moment, Catherine." he said, his voice muffled by his hands. "I need a minute." She took her hand off of him, and folded herself small, pressed against the arm of the couch. Why were they both so fragile? Catherine didn't want Grissom to leave but maybe it was asking him to much to stay. What was worse? Her fear of spending a night unprotected and alone, or his emotional instability?

"Maybe you should go." she said, softly, selflessly, she thought.

"I don't want to go, Catherine, I just want one minute of quiet!" he yelled, startling her. She jumped, surprised. She glanced quickly at Lindsey's closed door.

"Okay," she whispered. "Take your fucking minute, I'm going to bed." For once her fear wore off, she was angry and righteous. She didn't like to be yelled at and she didn't like to be ordered about. With that, she stalked down the hall, pausing at the linen closet to pull out a quilt and leave it in a heap on the floor. It was for him and the couch and she closed her door behind her.

What a silly fight. Grissom wondered what had just happened. He knew he couldn't just stay out here and he knew he couldn't sleep knowing things weren't right. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it down in one gulp. The glass clinked as he sat it down in the sink and he dried his hands on the seat of his pants. He stepped open the crumpled quilt to get to her door.

She didn't answer when he knocked on her door. She didn't even tell him to go away. He didn't want to talk to her through the door and he didn't want to wake Lindsey so he let himself in. Her lamp was on and she was lying still fully clothed, her face buried in her pillow.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Can you forgive me?" She rolled over and looked at him. Her face was red and her eyes watery – he had made her cry.

"Yeah," she said.

"I don't know what I want to say to you yet." he admitted.

"Well I'd rather you say nothing than the wrong thing, I guess." she said. He nodded and turned to go.

"I'm sorry too." she said. Part of her wanted to ask him to stay, to sleep in her bed, to recreate the afternoon's illicit behaviors, but she couldn't. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Catherine." he said.


	3. Chapter 3

They dropped Lindsey off at school and went straight onto her doctors' appointment. She was excited at not only the prospects of her stitches being removed but at the idea of having a clean bill of health – being off the wool-inducing medication and going back to work. Ecklie had called Grissom three times that morning already, bullying him to come into work that night. Grissom stopped answering.

He waited in the waiting room while Catherine was called in and forty five minutes later she appeared sans stitches and smiling. She had a thin pink scar instead but her hair covered the most of it.

"Let's get the hell out of here," she said, "I need a shower."

Grissom felt like he could use a shower himself. He'd woken up early, before both Catherine and Lindsey, and crept out into dawn's light to get his change of clothes from his car. Clean clothes over an unwashed body still felt wrong somehow. Usually Grissom showered before work and – depending on the kinds of things he had to deal with during his shift – again when he got home.

"I'll drop you off," Grissom told her. "I need to go home and check my mail and my messages." he said. Catherine reluctantly agreed. The doctor told her to finish up her antibiotics and to take the pain pills only if she really needed them. Her headaches had faded and she was given her clean bill of health. Any need she had of Grissom was purely psychological now. She'd woken up again in the night and pushed out of bed. When she saw Grissom asleep on the couch, snoring, a feeling of warmth and comfort had washed over her.

"Sounds good," she said. "Will you go back to work tonight?"

"Maybe," he said. "I haven't decided." He looked over at her. "You don't even think about it."

"Come on, Gil, you heard him, clean bill!"

"No, you heard him. I sat in the waiting room. You can come back on Monday."

"Thursday," she countered.

"Friday, if you have no headaches between now and then." he compromised.

"Friday," she agreed. "Okay."

When he pulled into her driveway, she impulsively leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you," she said. "For everything,"

"Any time." he promised.

oooo

His house was cool and empty. Winter was coming rather steadily and soon the desert nights would be freezing and they would all have to work their scenes in parkas and heavy boots. Catherine's skin turned translucent when she got cold. She became pale and her veins showed through like blue spider webs across her arms and chest. Her lips turned bright red and after she came inside, she folded herself around a steaming mug of black coffee. She wore knit sweaters and Burberry scarves. Grissom thought that Catherine looked good in every season.

Grissom ignored the blinking light on his answering machine and ignored the rumbling from his stomach and went straight to his shower. Usually he preferred tepid water to hot, but this time he let the water scald him and let the bathroom fill with steam. He contemplated shaving off his beard briefly when he got out of the shower and stood at the sink with a towel around his waist. Laziness won out and he didn't even bother to trim it. The air bit at his naked skin when he opened the bathroom door and he rushed to the bedroom to throw on a pair of sweat pants and a long sleeved cotton shirt. Leisure clothes were a rarity for Grissom – he usually wore work clothes or sleep clothes with the occasional formal wear thrown in for funerals or dinners. He hung up his towel and went downstairs to make himself a sandwich and maybe a stiff drink.

He was standing in his kitchen with wet hair and his sweat pants low on his hips when he heard the lock click over in his door. Catherine was the only one with a key and she had let herself in without even knocking first.

"Hi," he said, surprised.

"Hi," she said. "I came over."

"Yes, I can see that." he said. "Come in." She smiled, shyly.

"I probably should have rang the bell; it didn't really occur to me." she admitted.

"Did you need something, Catherine?" he asked, setting his knife down across the lip of the mayonnaise jar and he wiped his hands on a dishtowel.

"Um…no." she said, shrugging. She had showered too, and her hair was in damp braids on either side of her head like she'd worn it for the marathon. She was in jeans, again, and a sweater. "I got into my car and then I was just here."

He was immediately flattered by this and opened his arms to her. She walked into his embrace, putting her arms around his neck.

"It's fine," he said. "I'm glad you're here." He kissed her forehead and her nose and her cheek. His kisses were chaste and fast and safe. Catherine appreciated the closeness but the more time she spent with Grissom outside the Lab, the more she wanted a dangerous kiss. She tightened her hold on him and tilted her head suggestively so there was no question of what she wanted.

Grissom forgot to breathe for a second. Her lips were soft and parted and Grissom was mesmerized by them. With a surge of bravery he leaned his head down and kissed her. The bravery didn't last, though, and he pulled away quickly.

"Don't," she cried, pushing herself up to meet him again, her kiss more fierce than his. She pushed her tongue past his lips and she felt Grissom melt against her. They stood in the middle of the room kissing – necking! – until Grissom's stomach rumbled loudly. Catherine pulled away and snickered.

"Sorry," he said.

"I interrupted you," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Eat your sandwich."

"Will you stay?" he asked. "Are you hungry?"

"I'll stay." she said, pushing him to the kitchen. She watched him inhale the sandwich in a matter of minutes. It was almost impressive. "Why don't we stay in again tonight?" Catherine suggested. "We can go back to work together on Thursday if we stay in tonight." As if to argue on his behalf, Grissom's cell phone rang. He reached out to the coffee table to pick it up.

"Grissom." he said. His voice was low and thick sounding and the sound of him made her shiver. He covered the mouth piece to clear his throat. "Hi," The disappointed tone meant it was, yet again, Ecklie.

"Tell him to shove off." Catherine grumbled, walking over to Grissom's kitchen counter where the scotch was still yet unopened. She twisted off the cap and poured it into the short glass Grissom had gotten for himself. She poured it liberally and took a mouthful. She felt unsteady on her feet – the same feeling she got whenever something big was about to change and maybe using alcohol to soothe her nerves wasn't the best method but she knew, at least, that it was tried and true.

"Tomorrow," Grissom said. "Tomorrow." he repeated again, rolling his eyes. "The both of us, yes. And by the way, she's well, if you care enough to ask." Catherine snorted into her alcohol, irritated with Ecklie and pleased with Grissom. She liked that he stood up for her – he knew she'd stand up for him too. He hung up angrily.

"God forbid that mad ever have to actually lift a finger in the office – the field! – that he works in." Grissom muttered.

"So you'll stay?" she asked. She'd meant that he wouldn't go into the office but he looked around dramatically.

"I live here." he said. "So I guess the real question is whether or not you'll stay."

"Yes," she said. "My daughter, light of my life, is spending the night with her cousin working on a project."

"For history, she told me about it." He said.

"For history," Catherine confirmed.

"So you're all mine." he said, gladly.

"Seems so," she said.

"Let me have that," he said, taking her glass and he swallowed the rest. She smiled, amused. She didn't want to drink anymore and neither did he. Fumbling through the afternoon drunk didn't sound appealing.

"I would like to take my time, if that's all right with you," he said. Her face fell a little – she thought that things had finally been going well and he was already throwing on the breaks.

"We can take all the time you need." Catherine said.

"Oh, I want you. I didn't mean that – I meant that I'd like to take my time with you. I don't want to rush through anything." he explained. She felt the head of excitement and intrigue travel through her.

"All right," she said. He reached out his hand and she took it with her own. He led her up the narrow staircase to his bedroom. The room was dark and he opened his heavy drapes to let the sunlight in. Heavy drapes were a necessity for a graveyard shift worker – Catherine had them too. But the room came alive in the light. The colors emerged and she could clearly see the glazed look of desire on his face. It was mingled with the same look her wore when he solved a particularly difficult case or problem.

"I'd like to touch you now," he said.

"You have my permission. Is that what you needed all this time?" she asked. "You have it."

The first thing he did was tell her not to move. To stay still and let him explore her. He started by removing the elastic bands at the end of each braid. He set the black circles on his dresser and spent several moments unwinding each braid with his fingers, releasing the waves of her hair and the trapped scent of her shampoo. He breathed in and smiled. She shook her head so her hair fell and he nodded, pleased. Next to be removed were her shoes and socks. He knelt at her feet and brought down the zipper on the inside of each of her black boots. She lost about three inches of height. She was so small, but he forgot just how small because she was so strong. He put his arms around her waist and buried his face into her stomach.

"I don't know what I would have done if he had really hurt you, or worse." he cried. "I would have come unraveled."

"Hey," she said. "I'm fine. Thanks to you, I know you'll always keep me safe."

"I promise, I will." he said. He let go and removed each sock and marveled at her delicate toes, painted a deep red. He stood up and touched the hem of her shirt. He didn't remove it all at once, but pushed it up inch by inch, trailing the sweater with his fingertips. When he saw the jeweled barbell that decorated her belly button, he groaned in delight.

"Not your style?" she asked.

"It's just fine," he breathed. "May I touch it?"

"Just don't pull," she said. He reached out a finger and lightly touched the light green stone that glittered in the early afternoon light.

"Like finding treasure," he said. She raised her arms over her head, urging him along and he obliged, pulling the sweater over her head and tossing it to the ground. The static of the motion left her hair sticking out and he smoothed it down. Her bra was simple, simpler than he expected something Catherine would wear to be. It was white with thin straps and the full cups were lined with a delicate lace. Grissom liked pretty, fancy lingerie as much as the next man but right now Catherine was so beautiful that he was glad there wasn't any fancy underwear to distract him.

Grissom carefully extended Catherine's arm, her right arm, and kissed from the very tips of her fingers all the way down her forearm, past her bicep. When he finished with one arm, he did the other – starting at her shoulder and ending kissing each glossy finger nail.

"You really are going to take your time," she growled.

"Sit on the bed." Grissom ordered, ignoring her. She did so without question. He sat behind her on the bed, and looked at her back. With a flat hand, he rubbed the skin until it was rosy and malleable under his ministrations. He unclasped the bra with one hand and took it off of her so he could hug her from behind, so he could feel her nude skin against him. His arms were just under her breasts. Slowly, he moved his hands up to cup her. She sighed, relaxing into him and laid her head back against his shoulder. He kissed her arched neck and let his hands knead her a little. She twisted her head at an awkward angle so she could kiss him on the mouth. He allowed it for a minute but soon wrenched away. "Lie back," he whispered.

She squirmed up onto the bed until her head was against his pillow and she was lying comfortably. He hovered over her, his nimble fingers undoing the button of her jeans. She lifted her hips so he could drag the denim down past her hips. The jeans were added to the pile of clothes on the floor.

Her underwear was significantly more erotic than her simple bra. It was a black, slick thong with a pink 'C' stitched in script on the front and he would find a smaller 'C' on the back.

"Pretty," he murmured. "You're so pretty." He ran his hands up and down her legs – it warmed her skin and brought her alive.

"Gil," she said, "Take off your clothes." He raised his eyebrow and pulled his shirt off. He yanked down his grey sweatpants. He'd not bothered with boxers and she let her eyelids lower a little at the sight of him completely naked and aroused. She beckoned him with one finger.

He slithered over her, wanting as much of her skin to be against his as possible. She wrapped her arms around him and they started kissing, serious kissing – sloppy and warm and wet. Grissom's hands were everywhere at once, on her hips and her face and her breasts. All she could do was lay there and let him, lay there and feel.

When his hand brushed against her underwear, she lost her patience.

"Take them off," she growled and he wrenched them off of her, tossing them over his shoulder. She grabbed his wrist with a firm grip and forced his hand back to her center. He didn't resist when he felt how ready she was, how insistent and sure. One finger slid in easy and two more so – she groaned so low in her throat that he felt dizzy.

"How's this?" he asked, his mouth next to her ear.

"Not enough," she said. She sounded like desperation. He sped his fingers up and put his thumb against her clitoris. Her skin flushed deep and red like she had been drinking wine. He'd started slow but now he was relentless and precise. He held his breath, gave her his complete attention. It didn't take long – her back arched starting with her hips and washing over her until only the crown of her head touched the pillow.

He slowed, helped her come down, and slid his fingers back out of her. Sometimes she was so beautiful that he felt like weeping. She tugged on him until he was on top of her, above her, panting and sweating. She reached between them and touched him.

"Please," he shuddered. "I don't know if I can stand it."

"All right," she said and helped guide him into her. The rest was a blur for the both of them. Skin and teeth and moisture. She let him lay on top of her when he finished even though his weight constricted her breathing. She rubbed his sweaty back and touched the back of his hair where the gray curls ended and the skin of his neck began.

"Catherine," he moaned.

"Shh," she said. "Let's just rest." He moved so his head was cushioned by her breasts and closed his eyes.

oooo

Grissom ran Catherine a bath in his tub. It was large, bigger than the puny one in her small house. He poured some oil, scented like jasmine, into the hot water.

"I use this exact same brand and scent," she said, eyeing the bottle.

"I know," he said, shyly. He was coy, almost embarrassed, after the sex. He didn't want to scare her off, and he had put on his sweatpants as soon as he'd woken up again. He'd been skinnier once, more muscular, but years behind his desk had changed him. He was now rounded softly and not nearly so hard. She still found him horribly attractive.

There had been a time when she worked both in the lab as a tech during the day and a shift at the French Palace at night as soon as she got off. It had been exhausting but on Thursday nights, Grissom would come in just after she started and left just as she sauntered off the state. She always put on a good show on Thursday nights. Knowing he was there had made her feel so alive! It didn't matter how exhausted she'd been. She quit when she got pregnant, when she'd found out about Lindsey.

Grissom had been scared of pregnant Catherine. She was prone to tears, moody and depressed. She watched her figure disappear with an expression perpetual horror. The first time she felt the baby move, she'd screamed. Grissom had been walking by and jumped, rushing in, wanting to help. She'd grabbed his hand and put it against the tight, round skin of her belly. He'd felt the flutter and laughed and she'd laughed and for a moment Grissom forgot that he was feeling another man's child.

Now she was shameless in front of him, always comfortable with her body. He watched her languidly. She climbed into the water, leaned her head back, and smelled the jasmine.

oooo

They returned to work. The team seemed happy to have him back, ecstatic that Catherine was well. Grissom had to spend 30 minutes in Ecklie's office and when he came out, didn't want to see anyone or talk about it. Catherine had lingered outside the door trying to overhear but only once did she hear a voice get raised and she couldn't exactly tell which man the voice belonged to. She hoped it was Grissom, hoped it was in his own defense, not hers. She was just sorry it took her getting kidnapped from a scene for him to take some time off.

When he handed out assignments, he sent her off with Nick and she didn't seem him again until the shift had ended, sitting alone in his office, filling out paperwork.

"Hi there," she said, leaning in his doorway.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, looking up over the brim of his eye glasses.

"Fine," she said. "May I come in?"

"Of course," he said, motioning to the chair in front of his desk. She sat down.

"Did Ecklie chew you out?" she asked. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"It isn't polite to linger outside closed doors, Catherine," he said. She shrugged.

"I'm headed home," she said, changing the subject. "I have to get Lindsey off to school."

"Okay," he said, looking back down at his work.

"Would you like to come?" she asked, speaking to him slowly, as if he were a child or a particularly slow learner.

"Oh," he said. "Yes," He said it as if the idea would have never occurred to him and he was surprised by his desire to go. "I'll have to bring this stuff," he said, motioning to the avalanche of file folders on his desk.

"Sure," she said. He found an empty box in the corner of the room and piled the pages inside. She held out his coat to him and he put his keys in his pocket. "Ready?"

"Yes," he said, closing the office door with the box resting on his hip. He twisted the knob to make sure it was locked and when they walked past the break room, Warrick waved goodbye.

"Have a good morning," he called after them, his head cocked. He'd never seen Grissom willingly touch anyone before and now his hand was on the small of Catherine's back – he opened the door for her and got into the same car as her. They drove away together, turning left toward Catherine's and not right, toward Grissom's. Warrick got up to look for Nick.

oooo

Lindsey was barely awake when they got in. She was standing in the living room in her pajamas – tangled hair and red cheeks.

"Baby?" Catherine asked, setting her purse down with a clunk on the floor.

"I don't feel good," she said pitifully. Catherine pressed her palm against Lindsey's forehead and tsked.

"She's awfully warm," Catherine said. "There's a thermometer in my kit in the car," she told Grissom and he went out to get it immediately. He'd parked next to her in the driveway. He realized he didn't have her keys so he got the thermometer from his own kit and brought it to Lindsey's pale pink bedroom where the girl was back in bed. "Under your tongue for three minutes," she said. "I'll be back then."

In the living room, Catherine groaned.

"I'll go," Grissom said.

"No," she said. "Please stay – she's going to sleep all day with the medicine I'm going to give her."

"Only if you're sure," he said.

"At least for a while," she pleaded. Grissom took off his coat and followed Catherine into the kitchen where she stuck two pieces of bread in the toaster and cut up an apple. She put the food on a plastic plate and poured some orange juice into a cup and took it into Lindsey's bedroom along with the medicine. Grissom lingered in the hallway, unsure of what to do. "Gil," she called and he went to the doorway. "102," she said.

"Give her some ibuprofen – some cough medicine if she wants it," he suggested. "Best thing for you is sleep." he told Lindsey.

"Will you read to me?" Lindsey asked him.

"Me?" he asked.

"Mom said you used to read to her when she was pregnant with me," Lindsey said. "Please?"

"What would you like to hear?" he asked, stepping fully into the room.

"Harry Potter," she said. Catherine made room for him on the bed. "Year three,"

"The Prisoner of Azkaban," Grissom said, pulling it off the shelf. "An excellent choice," He sat on the edge of the bed and Catherine put her hand on his leg as he started reading about Privet Drive. Lindsey nibbled on her toast. It didn't take long for her to drift off. They crept out of the bedroom and closed the door.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Any time," he said.

"Are you hungry?" she asked. He wasn't, really. "Will you stay?" she asked. "Sleep for a while, while she does?"

"Sure," he said. She unbuttoned the top button of his shirt so his neck was free. She touched the soft skin there with the spidery wrinkles and dusky color. Catherine left her bedroom door cracked so she could hear when Lindsey woke up. Catherine stripped down to her underwear and camisole and climbed into bed. Grissom left on his undershirt and boxers and got in next to her. Catherine fitted her body against his – the little spoon – and their bare feet touched. They slept.

Grissom woke up to see Lindsey at the foot of the bed, shivering and sweat-soaked. He got out of the bed and rushed to her – her skin was hot to the touch and he could see her swallowing, testing the pain in her throat again and again. She was young and growing, it wasn't unusual to pick up a bad cold or flu after spending several days in a hospital like she had, watching over her mother.

"Come on," he said. In the bathroom, he fed her more medicine. "It will help,"

"I can't sleep anymore," she whispered. He could hear her voice fading and faltering because of the swollen and raw throat.

"Why don't you bring a pillow out to the couch and we'll put a movie in." he said. She nodded and went to her room to drag her pillow and comforter to the couch while he put his pants back on and tried not to wake Catherine. In the living room, she was on the couch.

"I want to watch Clueless," she said.

"Like mother, like daughter," he muttered, turning the television on low.

"What? Mom hates that movie," she said.

"But it's based on _Emma_," Grissom pointed out. "Your mother always wants to watch Jane Austen movies when she doesn't feel well."

"Jane Austen is boring," Lindsey mumbled and Grissom gave up and put in the movie. He was about to turn back to the bedroom when Lindsey spoke. "Are you and my mom dating now?" she asked.

"I… don't know," he said. "Does that bother you?"

"No, I think it's cool," she said. Grissom smiled slightly. "I hope you stay,"

"We'll see," Grissom said. In the bedroom, Catherine was sitting up in the bed, rubbing her eyes. She smeared makeup and it made dark rings beneath her eyes.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Lindsey wanted to watch a movie," he said. Grissom could have slept longer but Catherine got up and went to go check on her fevered daughter and so Grissom just put on the rest of his clothes. He kissed Catherine's cheek goodbye and went home.

"You should keep him," Lindsey told her mother as they listened to the sound of Grissom's engine fade away.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"I like him. He's kind to us," Lindsey said again.

"Okay," Catherine said. "I'll do my best,"


	4. Chapter 4

Sara was the only one who ever called Catherine 'Cat'. Kitty cat had been her stripping name and Sara knew it. She spoke under the guise of a nickname but she hissed it as an insult. Catherine had given up long ago trying to figure out what she'd done to make Sara so angry. Sara always thought she was better than everyone else anyway. The boys all called her 'Cath' and it was a shortening she didn't mind. Grissom called her 'Catherine' always – the compliment was in the precision. She never called him Gilbert.

Catherine was an expert on getting her heart broken. Her cheating ex-husband was dead, after all, and she had to say goodbye to him on a metal table with Doc Robbins watching over her shoulder. At work the next morning, she could tell that what she and Grissom had was no longer a secret. She could tell by looking at Sara's face.

In the beginning, when she and Sara were still friends, Catherine had thought that Sara was an expert in heartbreak as well – she'd seen the younger CSI watch Grissom – but when things ended badly with Hank, Sara looked raw and new. Catherine had taken her for beer, two each, and then Catherine felt that she had fulfilled her obligation of empathy and womanhood. Thinking back she realized that that was the beginning of the end for her and Sara. The two of them had gone into Grissom's office with beer on their breath (off the clock) and they could both see Catherine's name in Grissom eyes. _Catherine Willows_. She gave him a smile and Sara had left without saying anything.

Now, that look was back in Grissom's eye and Sara could see it. Nick had told her in the locker room while she was putting her bag in her locking and clipping her credentials onto her belt loop.

"There's something you should know," he'd said and told her what Warrick had told him.

"You sure?" Sara asked.

"I saw 'em right when I got here." he said. Nick had seen Catherine leaning over the lit table in the layout room. Grissom had come in and pushed her hair aside, kissed the back of her neck. Nick had seen his father kiss his mother that way and it wasn't the way one kissed a fling.

"Well, it doesn't have anything to do with me," Sara said defensively.

"Okay," Nick said. Sara left the locker room, and the banging of her locker rang in Nick's ears. But Sara was rattled. She'd come to terms with the fact that Grissom would never want her in the way that she wanted him, but she was unprepared for him to be with someone else. And for that someone else to be Catherine? Sara could only hear a low buzzing in her ears as she stalked toward Grissom's office. The door was open and he was sitting at his desk, tapping on his laptop.

"Hi Sara," he said, when she came in. "What's up?"

Sara realized then she had nothing to say. She cocked her head and mentally gave up.

"Just ready to start the day," she said, quietly.

"I'll be there in a minute," he assured her. She turned around and closed her eyes tight. It was right there, written across his face in neon bright enough for any casino on the strip. _Catherine Willows._

oooo

Grissom started packing up his townhouse long before he and Catherine ever spoke about truly building a life together. He had a crawl space instead of an attic but it was big enough to store his junk and so he started clearing it out, packing the stuff up in brown boxes taped shut with clear tap and labeled with big, black markers that stank when the cap was off. Most nights he slept at Catherine's and slowly his clothes and shoes and toothbrush made their way over. Seven months after Catherine's abduction, Grissom put his town house on the market.

One year after the abduction, Catherine put her house on the market too and early on a Saturday morning, Grissom, Catherine, and Lindsey drove out to Henderson to look at some houses to buy. Grissom wanted two floors and Catherine wanted a yard and Lindsey wanted a pool. None of them wanted to live in Las Vegas – a thirty minute commute was a small price to pay to live in a suburb away from the bright, trashy lights of the strip.

Lindsey would be fourteen soon and in the fall she would start high school – not a bad time to change schools and Catherine wouldn't miss paying tuition for private school. They looked at three houses and Catherine hated the first one and the third one but they all liked the second one, right on the edge of town. It was two-stories on a quiet cul-de-sac with a big tree in the yard and a peanut shaped pool in the back surrounded by a tall, wooden fence. Inside, there were dark hardwood floors and tile, not linoleum, in the kitchen. There was a washer and a dryer and the master bedroom upstairs while there was a room for Lindsey downstairs. Upstairs was a third bedroom for a guest room or office or maybe where Grissom's bugs would live.

"Please?" Catherine said, standing in the empty living room with the realtor.

"Please?" Lindsey echoed.

"It isn't solely my decision," Grissom said. Catherine smiled and kissed his cheek.

"That means yes," she told her daughter.

Catherine's house sold quickly once it was placed on the market. A newlywed couple bought it. Grissom sold his townhouse to a bachelor not much younger than himself. With both sold, they could afford the new house without too much of a headache.

Catherine got Nick and Warrick to help them move. They came over early to help load boxes and appliances into the U-Haul and pack up the back of Catherine's Denali and Grissom's Tahoe. Lindsey skipped around underfoot and in the way, her braids trailing along behind her. It was the beginning of summer and she was in shorts and a halter-top; her bare feet, black on the bottom.

"We used to talk about how pretty Lindsey was going to be when she grew up," Nick said, watching Lindsey collapse on the driveway under the weight of her suitcase. Grissom rushed over to help her.

"Yeah?" Warrick said. "So?"

"Well, I think she's there." Nick said, "She looks more like Catherine every day."

"Can you believe she's starting high school already?" Warrick asked.

"We're old." he said.

"Speak for yourself, man." Warrick laughed.

"Hey, when are you and Tina gonna start the baby makin'?" Nick asked.

"Aw, man, don't start." Warrick said, pulling down the back of the U-Haul with a bang. "Hey Griss, ready to take a load?"

"Yeah," called Grissom. "Let's go."

The two SUVs and U-Haul caravanned the thirty minute drive to the new house in Henderson. Catherine, always the speed demon, got there first and had the house unlocked and the windows open to air it out when the men arrived. They moved in the big stuff first – refrigerator, couches, tables – and Catherine directed where she wanted everything to go. Lindsey's bed fit down the hall into her bedroom but Grissom's California King Mattress wouldn't fit up the stairs. Nick finally came up with the idea of using rope and pulleys to hoist up the mattress and box spring over the balcony into the bedroom. Catherine made sandwiches and got beer for lunch and they all went out for dinner when the sun set as thanks for Warrick and Nick's help.

After that, Grissom made one more run to the old house while Catherine made up Lindsey's bed so the exhausted girl could get some sleep. By the time Grissom came back, Lindsey was tucked in and Catherine had fallen asleep on the sofa. She woke up when Grissom came in, his arms full of boxes of miscellaneous items – things forgotten and tossed in at the last moment.

"Welcome home," Catherine said, making them both smile.

"I'm beat," he said.

"I made the bed," she said. "I unpacked some of the kitchen stuff but then I sat down…"

"Nothing is quite so horrible as moving," Grissom agreed, flopping down beside her. "I could stand a shower."

"Yeah," she said, resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes. "Me too."

"Catherine?" he asked. "Do you ever think about getting married again?"

Her eyes opened. He'd asked her this same question once before and she'd shut him out – her answer had been bitter at best. Now, she reconsidered.

"Maybe, if the right man asks." she said.

"You know, we just bought a house together," Grissom said. "And very shortly we are going to take a shower together."

"Yes," she said. "Both true."

"And I think the last year has been a good one."

"I agree," she said.

"And you know I love you." he pressed.

"Yeah babe, you tell me everyday. I love you, too." she said.

"So, bearing all that in mind," he paused to fish into his pocket. His hand came out clenched in a fist.

"Oh my god," she said. "You're proposing right now?"

"Catherine, I really hope I'm the right man." he said, opening his hand to reveal a modest diamond engagement ring. She rolled her eyes and took the ring, slipping it deftly onto her ring finger.

"Of course," she said. "This is beautiful, thank you."

"I'll be so good to you," he promised.

"You already are," she assured him. "Come on, let's go get clean before we get dirty again."

He smiled and followed her down the hall. Before she could enter the bedroom, he grabbed her from behind and draped her over his shoulder.

"Gil!" she yelped. "What the hell?"

"Carrying you over the threshold," he grunted. He was tired and sore and though Catherine was small, she was not weightless. He let her down on the other side of the door.

"You're insane," she said, but she was laughing. They showered in the master bathroom, something they found a luxury after the three of them sharing one bathroom in Catherine's small house. Now Lindsey could have her own bathroom and would never walk in on something inappropriate for her thirteen years. After their shower, they christened the new house the best way they knew how and slept well through the night.

It took Lindsey all of five seconds to notice the ring on her mother's finger. She glanced up from her bowl of Honey Nut Cheerio's wearily and muttered, "About damn time."

"LINDSEY!" her mother said, aghast. "Language!"

"Sorry," she muttered, but she wasn't. Grissom generally slept through Lindsey's send off to school but this time he got up and kissed the top of Lindsey's blonde head.

"Hi, Gil," she said.

"Hi beauty queen," he said. "Are you happy for us?"

"Tell him what you said," Catherine ordered.

"Mom," Lindsey whined.

"Tell him," she repeated.

"I said, 'About damn time'." Lindsey repeated; shy in front of Grissom and his quiet judgment. But he surprised them all when he laughed.

"Indeed," he said. "Is there any orange juice?"

oooo

Maybe there had been a time that Grissom had loved Sara and Catherine at the same time. Sara had once been so desperate for him and on good days, when he thought of Sara, he saw her sitting on the curb on the day of the explosion holding her hand, looking shocked. He'd come over and crouched in front of her and taken her hand maybe right then he had loved her. He had been in love with her pain and even he knew that was no way to start a relationship.

It was Catherine who had gone with him to the hospital later that month, not Sara. Catherine who had watched him for weeks before she finally asked, "Can you hear me?" Catherine who had watched him walk down that hallway with the nurse rolling the empty wheelchair beside him and Catherine who had been there when he woke up, both ears aching and filled with gauze.

oooo

They had decided to simply not tell Ecklie about the marriage, hoping to put off the inevitable for as long as possible. He was already most unhappy with their romantic relationship and they both knew marriage wouldn't bode well. It had yet to affect the quality of their work but Ecklie liked to stir up trouble and the pot of Grissom and Catherine was set to boil.

Catherine wore her ring and asked the team not to say anything – they all readily agreed, even Sara who had surprised everyone by getting herself a girlfriend, a beautiful Spanish woman named Cecelia. Her accent only added to her exotic beauty and everyone who met her fell a little bit in love with her. Sara was still terse with Catherine but the bitterness of Grissom had blown over long ago.

Grissom offered to give Catherine a proper wedding but it wasn't what Catherine wanted.

"This is Vegas, honey," she said. "Let's do it Vegas style."

"No," Grissom said, startling her.

"Excuse me?"

"You married Eddie in a Vegas chapel and we aren't starting this marriage the same way. I want – that is to say, I would prefer getting married in a church. It doesn't have to be big and I know we aren't particularly religious, but it would mean something to me. My friend Jeff is a protestant minister and he offered to marry us." Catherine stared at him, always surprised that after so many years he could still manage to throw her for a loop.

"All right," she said because how could she deny him what would make him happy? "Not too big."

"No," he promised. "On that we agree."

Neither was sure what the rush was, but they wanted to be married by the end of the summer. It just felt like waiting longer was wasting time and they'd wasted fifteen years already. They decided on late August – before Lindsey started school but not much before. They wouldn't take a honeymoon – they'd just bought a house after all, but neither minded. They invited family (Catherine's mother and sister's family and Grissom's cousin and aunt), but neither really had much family left. Catherine debated not inviting Sam Braun but in the end she did. They invited their lab friends, Brass and Sofia, but not Ecklie. He would be offended when he found out but the mutual dislike was obvious and Grissom, after all, had never been a good politician.

Catherine felt like she wasn't able to wear white.

"I'm an ex-stripper, ex-wife, and single mom, what right do I have to wear a pretty white dress?" she asked.

"Catherine, you cheated me out of seeing you walk down the aisle once before," he pointed out. "And now that you're going to be walking toward me instead of away from me? Please, it doesn't have to be a traditional wedding dress but I must insist that you wear white."

"You're suddenly very opinionated about this wedding," she said.

"I never thought I would get one," he shrugged. "I want it to be right."

When the day came, nothing was really traditional with the wedding except for the church, and the bride and groom. Grissom and Catherine woke up together, gathered their things and drove with Lindsey to the small protestant church in downtown Henderson. Catherine had a simple white summer dress (the day was hot) and Lindsey served as the Maid of Honor in pale pink. Grissom had rented a tux and Catherine had insisted that he choose a best man. Nick and Warrick and Greg had all offered themselves up but Grissom finally asked Brass who was so pleased by it that the hard detective misted up and hugged Grissom tightly.

Catherine stood over Lindsey with a curling iron, fixing her daughter's hair. Lindsey watched her mother's face in the vanity mirror.

"Are you nervous?" Lindsey asked.

"A little," Catherine admitted.

"Why?"

"Marriage is… in my experience, a lot of hard work." Catherine said. "Last time it didn't go so well for your dad and I."

"Gil's really, really different from dad." Lindsey observed.

"I'm different now, too." Catherine said. She put down the curling iron. "All done,"

Lindsey inspected her new bouncing curls in the mirror and nodded her approval.

"You look really nice, Mom." Lindsey said. "You look happy,"

"Oh baby, I love you." she said, hugging Lindsey against her. Another inch or two and Lindsey would be just as tall as her mother – taller even.

"I love you, too." she said, her face muffled into her mother's neck. There was a knock on the door and Warrick's wife, Tina, stuck her head in.

"I'm supposed to tell you that it's time." the young woman said, shyly. She was still somewhat uncomfortable with Warrick's work friends. "Then men didn't want to interrupt."

"Thank you," Lindsey said. Tina turned to go.

"Wait! Tina? How does Gil look?" Catherine asked. Tina shrugged.

"Impatient, I guess." she said. "I'll tell them you're on your way."

Gil, in fact, did look impatient all the way down at the end of the aisle with Jeff standing in a white rove with a bible in his hands. Lindsey went first; walking robotically like her mother had shown her. She waved excitedly at Grissom and the crowed of about 25 chuckled. Catherine saw Lady Heather in the crowd, sitting alone behind the last pew that had been filled with people. She had some sort of strange connection with Grissom and he hadn't mentioned that he'd invited her but Catherine wasn't surprised to see her there. When the music changed, she started walking. Soon, she was married.

oooo

It didn't take long for Ecklie to notice the marriage. The paperwork for Catherine's new credentials had to be signed by him. He appeared in the doorway of her office waving the form Catherine filled out requesting a new badge, new CSI vest, and new name plate.

"Catherine Grissom?" he said, shrilly. She raised her left hand where the wedding ring fit snugly against the engagement ring. She didn't bother to look up. Ecklie groaned and walked away.

He went to Grissom's office next. Grissom wasn't there, so Ecklie wandered around the lab until he found Grissom in the layout room, in the midst of an experiment.

"Gil," Ecklie said, "We have a problem." Ecklie could see the bump of a ring under Grissom's latex glove.

"Do we?" asked Grissom, looking up.

"You married Catherine! I've been pretty accommodating with the two of you but a marriage is a conflict of interest for the lab."

"Nothing's changed," Grissom said, "Except for a piece of paper. All we did was make it legal.

"I don't make the rules," Ecklie said. "I'm going to have to transfer one of you."

"We'll contest your decision through the appropriate channels," Grissom said.

"Of course you will," Ecklie said and left Grissom to his experiments.

Catherine found her new husband a few minutes later.

"If he puts me back on swing shift, we'll never see each other." she said, sitting beside him dejectedly.

"I know," he said. "Maybe he'll move me instead of you."

"Yeah, right." she snorted. "Gil," she whined, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Crap!"

"Crap indeed." he said.


	5. Chapter 5

Catherine made breakfast every morning before Lindsey walked to school and so Grissom got used to eating eggs and toast for dinner. They went to bed, woke when Lindsey came home, and went to work. Ecklie's threat had come to this: Catherine and Grissom were pulled into the Under sheriff's office to plead their case and after an hour and a half were given a stern warning on appropriate office conduct.

Things were good for the first year of their marriage, and the second and the third.

One morning, Catherine woke up to Grissom's hand on her breast.

"Good morning to you, too." she said, batting his hand away. But his arm was solid and her push against it did nothing to lesson his grip. "Gil," she said – her voice a wary tone of danger.

"Feel this," he said, taking her hand and putting against her left breast. "Feel this," he insisted.

Lindsey was seventeen when her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, eighteen when her mother died, and nineteen when she packed a bag and vowed never to come back to sin city, a place that reeked of loss.

oooo

Gil couldn't find his cane. He cursed under his breath, a string of expletives that did little to make him feel better, and less to make his cane appear. He took his time getting out of bed, careful to swing his leg to the ground in a way that wouldn't cause a twinge of pain from his hip all the way up into his teeth. The cane had fallen behind the night stand and he groped for it, his fingers outstretched and grasping. By the time he was standing, leaving heavily on the cane, he was sweating and angry. The doorbell rang a third time and he limped out into the living room in his flannel pajama bottoms and white undershirt with a red, bright face.

He didn't look out of the peep hole before throwing open the door. His heart leaped a moment at what he saw.

"Catherine?" he gasped, squinting into the late morning sunshine that blasted into his darkened living room. But no, it wasn't Catherine standing on the porch. Catherine was dead.

"I didn't have anywhere else to go," she said, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head.

"Lindsey," Gil said. At twenty four, Lindsey hadn't been back to Las Vegas in nearly five years. She'd left angry and alone not long after the funeral. She'd left with a man who was almost twice her age, a man who had promised to take care of her and who had promptly left her in Arizona with seven dollars and nowhere to go. So she'd found another man, and another after that and finally, when the latest man, Peter, had left her eight months pregnant, she'd decided she wanted a better life.

"I'm sorry I didn't call, ever," she said.

"Who is that?" he asked. Lindsey glanced down to the small boy, balanced on her hip, his face pressed into his mother's neck. He was pretending to be asleep, but Lindsey could feel his eyelashes move against her skin. He was just being shy.

"This is Spencer," she said. "Gil, I don't know what to do."

"How old is Spencer?" Gil asked, looking at the sleeping boy with his messy red hair and bare feet.

"Two," she said, wondering if they were going to have to stand on the porch all morning. Gil had been a good-step father to Lindsey, he had, but the loss of her mother had proved to be too much. She had hated sitting in her bedroom listening to Gil cry through the wall every night after her mother was gone. At nineteen, she had felt like she had no family left except for a crazy grandmother, a mobster grandfather, and a criminalist who didn't know how to talk to people who was no family at all. So she had left to find a new family, her own family, and now she was back, looking for forgiveness.

"Well, why don't you come in." he said, finally, looking Lindsey and her son up and down several times. Lindsey was too skinny – she looked like she hadn't had a proper meal in several days. She looked so much like her mother. Gil stepped aside to let Lindsey in.

The house was almost the same. There was a recliner that hadn't been there before, and the collection of bugs that had been banished to the upstairs office had migrated out into the living room over the years, but it was the house in Henderson and Lindsey found she had little to say. Gil shut the door.

"What happened to your leg?" Lindsey asked, shifting her hold on her son who was only getting heavier.

"I got shot in the hip," he said, quietly. She raised her eyebrows.

"Oh," she said. "That's too bad."

"Do you need a place to stay, Lindsey?" he asked, finally. "You and Spencer?"

"Thank you," she said. "We do."

oooo

Spencer Willows had big brown eyes and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his tiny nose that proved his dark red hair was real. He had the oval face of his grandmother and a cleft in his chin that gave his angelic face a hint of masculinity that he would appreciate in his teenage years. Lindsey had arrived with only a large duffel bag for the both of them and had given the last of her money to the taxi driver who had taken them from the greyhound station on Industrial Road to Henderson.

She was in the shower now, and Gil was looking at Spencer who was sitting on the couch with his thumb in his mouth.

"Well," said Gil, "Are you hungry?"

Spencer said nothing.

"It's been a long time since I've seen your mother," Gil said, looking at the young boy who watched him with wide eyes.

Spencer, again, remained silent.

"You can call me Gil," Gil said.

Spencer blinked. Gil rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen.

"Don't move," he called over his shoulder. In a few minutes, he returned with a plastic plate with apple slices on it. "Do you like apples?" He handed to plate to Spencer who looked at it warily. Finally, he took his thumb out of his mouth and replaced it with a piece of apple. Gil smiled to himself and sat next to Spencer on the couch while they waited for Lindsey to reappear. Spencer pointed to Gil's cane.

"That's my cane," Gil said. "They replaced my hip and it helps me walk."

Once Spencer got going, the apple disappeared quickly and the boy looked at him expectantly for more.

"What else do you want?" Gil asked, not expecting any answer. He stood with a grunt, leaning heavily against his cane. He was surprised when Spencer climbed down off the couch and padded unsteadily into the kitchen behind him. Gil smiled at him. "How about peanut butter and jelly?"

Spencer nodded and Gil took this as a good sign. He made three sandwiches, one for Lindsey. They ate them together. Spencer got purple jelly everywhere. Gil had put a phonebook on the chair so Spencer could see his plate on the wooden table. Finally, Lindsey appeared.

"My bedroom is still the same," she said, quietly. "Even all the clothes are in the closet."

"I thought you might come home one day," Gil said. "And now you have."

"Look at Spencer, what a mess." she said, her voice a little shaky.

"He was hungry," Gil said. "We made you a sandwich."

"Thank you, he loves PB and J. Spencer is always hungry." she said.

"You used to love these sandwiches too, when you were little." Gil said.

"Yeah," she said, sitting down. She had braided her hair into two long braids on either side of her head and the straggled down her back. Gil remembered them dancing in the wind, remembered Catherine putting a towel around her daughter's shoulders in the middle of the kitchen and snipping the ends of her blonde hair so it grew thick and strong. He remembered Warrick grabbing on to her braids and steering her around the yard like a pony, he laughter in shrieks and protests.

Now, it hurt to look at her.

"What will you do? Are you planning to stay for a while?" he asked.

"Spence and I will go as soon as I get a job and land on my feet," she said, hurried.

"Lindsey, stay forever, that isn't what I meant. I'm just wondering what you are going to do," he assured her.

"Oh, well, I bet the French Palace is hiring," she joked uneasily. She still remembered being 12-years-old, caught hitchhiking, her mother saying "Fighting? Hitchhiking? What's next?" and her young self mumbling, "Stripping…" And her mother's face had fallen in the same way that Gil's was falling now.

"Waitress, maybe. I have experience with that," She was going to ask Sam Braun for a job if he would see her – he had always been kind to her mother. "What about you? Still working nights?"

"Not with this hip," he said. "Retired with disability,"

"Who shot you?" Lindsey asked, pulling Spencer into her lap so she could wipe his face with her napkin.

"Someone who is in jail now," Gil said, looking away out the window. "It was nearly two years ago now."

"I thought about coming home lots of times," she said. "Things change when a kid comes along."

"Do you ever think about going back to school?" he asked.

"Not really," she said.

"You were always very smart," he said.

"I still am smart," she said. "I'm just trying to do things right for Spence. Mom was always so put together, always made my lunch and got me new clothes when my old ones didn't fit anymore. I want to be like that for him." she paused. "I've been thinking about mom a lot lately."

"She loved you so much, Lindsey. I love you, too, you know." Gil said. Lindsey rested her chin on top of her son's head.

"Mama," Spencer said. Tears rolled down her face.

oooo

So they went to see Catherine. She'd been cremated because it was more economically sound, but she had a marker in a wall and Gil went once a month or so. Gil showed Spencer a picture of Catherine and Lindsey, when Lindsey was nine or ten.

"This is your grandma. She would have loved you a lot." Gil said. Spencer touched the glass on top of the photo and laughed. "Wasn't she pretty?" Gil said, his voice soft and strained.

"Yeah," Spencer whispered.

"Yeah," Gil agreed.

They got into the car after Gil had gone out to buy a car seat and they went to visit Catherine. Lindsey was quiet in the passenger's seat behind a cheap pair of sunglasses. Her hand gripped the arm rest until her knuckles turned white. In the back, Spencer made a plastic dinosaur dance across his lap.

When they got there, they were a somber trio, and Lindsey put down Spencer to trace her fingers over the letters that spell out her mother's name. _Catherine Grissom – Beloved Mother and Wife_.

Spencer stood with his hand clenched into his mother's skirt.

"I was angry at her for leaving us. I still am." Lindsey said, picking up Spencer once more.

"It was a hard year," Gil said. "I mean, I was a grown man when I lost my mother but you were a girl still and had already lost both."

"I had you," Lindsey said. "I wasn't even yours; you didn't have to keep me. I almost thought you would send me away."

"Is that why you left? Because you thought I didn't want you?" Gil asked.

"No. Yes. Maybe," she said. "It hurts to be here."

"We can go," Gil said. "Say goodbye to Grandma, Spencer,"

"Bye!" Spencer shrieked; he waved hard.

oooo

"You could go to school," Gil said again, one day a few weeks after Lindsey had come home. "You can apply on-line most anywhere. WLVU, maybe."

"I'm too old," she said, tying her apron around her thin waist. She worked at the Rampart and no one mentioned Sam Braun.

"No you aren't, your mother did it." he said.

"Well let me pick up a coke habit so I can be more like mom," she snapped. "I have to go to work."

She kissed her son goodbye and left Gil sitting in the quiet living room, his hip aching.

When she came home, later, he was still awake watching baseball on the television.

"She would hate to be called Grandma," Lindsey said, sitting next to him on the couch, tiredly.

"I think she would make the exception." Gil said.

"I'm sorry we both left you," she said. "I'm sorry we couldn't be what you needed."

"It's all in the past now," he said, waving his hand dismissively.

"I guess so," she said. He kept a tiny icebox by the sofa and pulled out a can of beer for her. She took it, flipped the tab open and slurped at the foam. "Where's that application?" she asked.

"What will you study?" he asked, smiling slightly.

"Dead people, probably." she said, kicking off her shoes and putting her feet on the coffee table. "How to catch the people who killed them."

"The evidence always tells the story, Lindsey." he said.

"Rule number one?" she asked.

"Exactly," he said.

"Will you teach me?" she asked, a little girl again. In the other room, Spencer started to cry. He'd been wetting the bed, lately, and woke up crying, cold and sticky. She stood up.

"I'll teach you." he said, but she was already down the hall.

end.


End file.
